Yesterday

C has no concept of time. If something has happened in the past, be it five minutes or five months ago, it happened esterday. I'll file that under words that will sadden me when finally pronounced correctly along with o'mana (banana) and siwwy (silly). 

She often says things like, "esterday, when I was a baby, I used to eat puffs just like Wilson. Right, Mom?" And I think to myself, she has no idea how right she is. Because, I'm pretty sure it was only yesterday that I was feeding Catherine puffs, breaking them into quarters, watching intently as she rolled them around in her mouth, trying to figure out this new thing, this new sensation, this new skill. 

It was only yesterday that I was on all fours on my living room floor, showing her how to crawl; and somehow, though only a day has passed, she is three and a half and is helping me teach her baby brother this same skill. 

It was only yesterday, that I marveled at her ability to hold a toy in her hand, that I taught her how to wave, how to clap. It was only yesterday that I watched her reject the brown tinted pureed peas the same way her brother does. 

It was only yesterday that she learned to walk, learned to talk. She toddled through the living room, chubby legs, chubby cheeks, that sweet toddler belly, a mess of curls, giggling with her every move.

Today, she is tall and lean. Her baby belly is gone, her cheeks have lost their chubbiness. She says things like, "Mom, we live in Birmingham, Alabama" and, "Mom, did you know that a ball is a sphere?" She is potty trained and brushes her own teeth and dresses herself. 

She is strong-willed and independent, smart and funny. She plays soccer and dances and goes to school. She introduces herself to adults and children alike, makes friends in an instant. She is a miniature version of Husband in so many ways. I'm watching her grow into a person and it's dazzling. I can't think of a better word - I am dazzled by her.

Yesterday, we learned we would be a family of four. It was only yesterday that a baby boy entered this world of pink and glitter and princesses. It was only yesterday that he established his place in our family. 

I'm fairly certain that it was only yesterday that he fit snugly in his infant carrier, that he slept soundly on every car ride, that he snuggled calmly in my arms. It was only yesterday that he rolled over and learned to sit on his own.

Somehow, eight months have passed by overnight. Somehow, life refused to slow down and our newborn grew up a little too fast for my liking. At eight months old, Wilson is mobile enough to steal toys from his sister and strong and fast enough to tear a paper towel into 347 pieces while I'm not looking. He is cutting teeth and sitting up and playing with toys. He is busy all the time and talking all the time. He is this tiny person, this little man, weighing almost as much as his sister three years his senior. 

He is sweet and happy and easy going. He seamlessly transitions from the beach to the car to a football game to a soccer field and everywhere in between. He is my little buddy, my mini me. 

I'm trying to wrap my head around it all, but I just can't. Yesterday, my babies were babies and I find myself in a place where I simultaneously wish for them to grow up and stay the same. I beg for them to go to sleep while hoping they still need me in the morning. I live under a mountain of bottles and dishes and laundry and crayons, but secretly dread the day that I no longer trip over toys on my way to bed. 

But I think that's one of the many joys of raising children - the tomorrows are equally as great as all the esterdays.

Under the Sea

My heart may explode. I am so so very proud. 

Sometimes, in the quiet of the night in between the kids' bed time and mine, I just sit and soak it all in. It is the only time in my day with silence. It is the only time I am without a child in my arms or hanging on my leg or climbing into my lap; yet, I use this time to go through photos and write blog posts about them all while checking the video monitor repeatedly. 

They are my world. 

Last night, part of my world went onto a big stage in front of hundreds of people in a concert hall and performed a dance perfectly. I can barely contain myself. 

My silly, smart, mischievous, inquisitive, funny three year old rocked her first ever dance recital. And I couldn't be prouder.

Her class performed a tap dance to "Under the Sea" from The Little Mermaid. They were dressed as crabs. It was ridiculously cute.

She even sneezed mid-dance and then picked right back up.

When I went backstage to pick her up after her performance, she was sitting with all of her friends, eating Smarties. I told her what a great job she did and that we were so proud of her and I handed her a bouquet of pink roses. She looked up at me and said, "Mommy, where did you get those? You're such a good friend." Then she said, proudly, "I danced on a stage! I sneezed a little, but it was okay."

Be still, my heart.

We sat down with our friends and family to watch the rest of the show. She loved every minute of it. And, honestly, so did her little brother. They made it through the whole show and dinner out after. We celebrated with pizza. Catherine celebrated by falling asleep in her daddy's arms.

This morning, when she woke up, she brought me a single rose in bed and said, "I danced on a big stage. This flower is for you."

I'm not sure I could love her any more. Until tomorrow.

Conversations with Catherine: Anatomy Lesson

At her three year old check up, C's doctor mentioned that she should be drawing circles and lines well by now. As I assured him that she was, it occurred to me that I really didn't know. We do a lot of coloring and drawing, but I've never studied her skill level.

So, I used bath time as an opportunity to test her skills with bath crayons. We were drawing stick figures and drew our family. I drew a little boy and said, "look it's Wilson!"

Catherine looked at the drawing, cocked her head to the side, scrunched her nose, and said, "no, he needs a body."

"Catherine, he has a body. What do you mean?" I asked as I handed her the crayon.

With one quick motion, she added the missing component - his "body."

She doesn't miss a thing.

Conversations with Catherine: About "That Baby"

I see so much of Husband in C. She spends 98% of her time with me, yet acts just like him. Aren't genetics crazy? She is a thinker. Sometimes, I can look at her face and actually see her little mind working. One of my favorite stories about Husband as a boy (one that I have heard over and over again, yet never tire of hearing) is about him as a four year old. He was standing and staring at a pile of bricks when he was asked what he was doing. He replied, "just thinking about what I can do with those bricks."

Catherine is always trying to figure out what she can do with those bricks.

Sometimes, this gets her into trouble. She is a daredevil. She likes to experiment. She likes to test her (and my) limits. As I adjust to parenting two children instead of just one, C often gets the stern, disciplinarian version of me and less of the fun, carefree me. I often lack the patience I once had. I am overtired and can't always see the magic through the mess. It's just the nature of things at this stage in our lives. So, as she also adjusts to our new roles with our little man, I can't help but chuckle at some of the things she comes up with and I just don't want to forget them.

One of the first nights I was home alone with both kids, after the entourage of help had gone back to their lives and Husband had returned to his long hours at work, I was settling both kids into C's bed to read books. I admit I was feeling a bit cocky, having successfully fed and bathed and clothed two children all by myself. It was at that moment, the one in which I was giving myself a huge pat on the back and writing my "Mother of the Year" speech in my head, that Wilson started to cry. 

Catherine looked at me in all her three year old honesty and said, "that baby needs his mommy." 

I replied, "I'm his mommy." Without missing a beat, she said, "no, you're my mommy."